snow turns to slush, melts
stained sewer brown, autumn leaves –
singing cardinal
The is a stranger in my past and I am he.
I had a few dreams last night that reminded me of events in the past. I tried to imagine being the person I was in those dreams and I have difficulty reconciling the two. Yes, I tell myself, we all change — but how could I have been the person I remember being? There still remain traces, elements, hints at that man, that child… But it seems impossible that mask was my own.
I spent over an hour yesterday looking for books regarding eastern thought on Amazon yesterday and I ended up buying three books, all of which are only slightly related to the topic. Two on Asian poetry, one children’s book, “Zen Ties” by Muth. None are really about Zen or Taoism and I think I’ve reached a stage where I have all the books about the matter that count. If I were into alchemical taoism or into Zen based on other schools that interest me (sudden versus gradual, I lean more sudden), then I might have more to choose from, but my thinking is less mystical than all that.
I might pick up other translations of books I have, but I am content with re-reading my current library.
Still, like a child looking for a sweet hidden in a hand, I was disappointed to come to the conclusion that the hand I chose has no sweets.
That said, I will have some fantastic poetry to read soon.